A New Evolution of Dilemma
by TheCobaltKiller
Summary: Fourteen years old, Harrison Marsh is lost for ideas when the apocalypse begins. Luckily, his colleague Firdaus Arip has intelligence on the epidemic. When the two seek refuge in a train station, they come across two hopeless survivors. But when they're met with four walkers, who will make it out of the station and where will they go? It's survival of the fittest.
1. Part I: Apocalyptic

**Part I: Apocalyptic**

Broken glass and the dispersed type of small gravel that one commonly finds in cities grazed Harrison's left temple as he hit the pavement. Just moments prior, he had propelled himself through the window of his near-empty school coach. Marginally concussed and dripping with warm blood from the shallower layers of his skin, he began to agonisingly lift himself up. As he stumbled a slight way to the left, his head started to ring out with excruciating pain. His senses restored, he took one inevitable last look at the window he had thrown himself out of. The awful, squishy sound of flesh being torn apart birthed from that same focus point, before a hunched over figure arose. As Harrison gulped, the figure pivoted swiftly to face out of the window.

The mid-afternoon sun shone brightly on the face of Harrison's adversary. A heavily panting killer, gazing down at him. The more that Harrison stared into his bloodshot eyes, the more Harrison realised how deathly he looked. _Whatever that is, _Harrison thought, _it is not human._ Letting out a hiss, the creature vaulted over the broken window frame, landing on its legs and breaking one. While it stumbled towards Harrison, he began to realise that, if anything, it resembled a poorly reanimated corpse, as if it was an undead being that feels no pain.

Previous events had made Harrison oblivious of his surroundings, but he soon snapped out of it. As the creature continued to slowly progress towards him, Harrison noticed others of its kind, eating away at the living. Blackheath Village offered a large variety of places to hide and get the necessary supplies that Harrison would need to patch himself up. With that, Harrison reached behind his waist and upholstered the firearm which had been concealed by the tail of his black blazer jacket. His trusty, silver Taurus PT92 in hand, he aimed at the swaying head of his assailant and took a shot at it. Blood splattered against the beige paint job of the coach from the back of the creature's head.

Having been attracted by the noise, a few more of the now confirmedly deceased threat's kind advanced from the surroundings towards Harrison. Desperate for medical support and protective shelter, he dashed for Blackheath Hospital. However, as he was about to make left into the building, something grabbed at his right arm. Struggling with the little might he had, he attempted to break free, but was instead dragged down the road. His abductor had taken him into Blackheath Station, and began to bandage a wound that Harrison had procured on his left arm. With fluttering eyes, Harrison looked at this person, impatient for his blurry vision to focus.

Much to his surprise, Harrison's saviour had been none other than his vice and fellow agent, Firdaus Arip. Once Harrison's arm had been bandaged, Firdaus helped him up, and began to lead him down towards the platform. It didn't take an exchange of words for Harrison to understand what they were doing. The platform allowed for an easy-to-hold perimeter, and was lined with benches for cover and vending machines for nutritional supplies. Quite curiously, the station was entirely empty, and so the two caught their breaths on a bench.

"Would you like to try," Harrison grunted. "To explain what on earth is going on?"

In order to aid his response, Firdaus exhibited a briefcase and proclaimed all that he had already been informed, "I contacted the main office," he gestured to his silver Docomo Fujitsu F-11C Metal Edge service flip phone. "They advised me as to the situation via my portable command centre," he opened the briefcase, exposing a large monitor with a very technical keyboard. Bringing up an official document, he continued his unsure clarification, "Headquarters has informed me as to what these things are; risen corpses as a result of a virus. Said virus, the KRONUS-07 Virus, was developed by Synergy Genetics and Technologies. It was supposed to revive those who had very recently passed, perfect for sustaining soldiers in wars. However, all it did was reanimate dead corpses into these cannibalistic _roamers_."

"Roamers, huh?"

"If you will..." Firdaus continued with what he knew, "The rate of infection is a variable dependant on the pressure from the oscillations of sound waves, which disrupt bio-chemical reactions in the host, not curing their infection but instead slowing it. They can rapidly mutate so as to evolve to fit the situation. Therefore, if they fall into water they'll quickly adapt so as to be able to move quickly through it. However, it is at this point of transformation when they are at their weakest."

Normally, Harrison would make some sort of acclamation befitting of his mental state, so as to acknowledge how bewildered he was. In spite of this, he did not, as the pair were interrupted by two dark figures coming onto the platform from the station. Slowly and cautiously, Harrison ducked behind the cover of a nearby vending machine to his left, between the two boys and the two intruders, and began to raise his gun. As the two unwanted guests to the platform stumbled towards the bench, Harrison's right eye fixated down the iron sights of his handgun. However, as they drew near, he realised that they were not infected.

In light of this, he stood up, still pointing his weapon. "Don't move!"

Choking slightly on their dry throats, in shock of what had just happened, the first of the two, who was supporting the shorter, spoke up, "Please don't shoot!" His voice was gravelly with fear and an apologetic tone. "M-my girl's hurt!"

Realising that this could mean that she was carrying the infection, Harrison kept his gun held straight, but covered his nose and mouth with his left hand. "What kind of injury?" he turned to the girl. "Did they get you?"

While the girl was too aghast to speak, her father sprung upon the question with a troubled answer, "No, no! We just need some medical help, those things didn't touch us!"

Cursing himself under his breath, Harrison holstered his gun between his back and belt, and helped to lower the girl onto the bench. As he examined her leg injury, Harrison spoke to the man, "So what's your name?"

"My name's Thomas Fisher, but y'all can call me Tom. This here's my daughter, Alice. And who might you be? It ain't everyday that I see a young Brit running around with a gun."

It wasn't until Tom had said this that Harrison noticed his out of place, American accent. It was then that it occurred to him that he was the only British person of four people in a train station in England. At this, he laughed, and then responded, "My name is Harrison, and this here's Firdaus. I suppose we shouldn't really delve to deep into my possession of a firearm, however." Putting one hand out, he turned to Firdaus who brought out the first aid kit which he had used on Harrison again. Having received it, Harrison opened it up. Luckily, the wound had only been a laceration down her left calf, most likely from a fence or piece of debris.

"C'mon," Tom said. "I'm curious! How old are you anyway?"

Harrison sighed, "Fourteen." As he disinfected the girl's cut, he turned to her, "You?"

Since she was bursting out in pain, her father answered for her, "Same as you," he said. "Me? A bit more!" he chuckled at his joke and then looked to Firdaus. Before he could ask his question, a pack of four roamers entered from the opposite end of the platform. Firdaus knew exactly what the nod Harrison gave him meant, and readied his Steyr Hahn P12.

Harrison gestured to Tom, "Get him out of here!"

The tall man protested as Firdaus began to lead him out, "My daughter!"

"Go," Harrison reassured him. "I've got her." He started to hurry up the bandaging process.

"No!"

Firdaus grabbed Tom, "Mr. Fisher, this way please." Tom struggled to get free, which Firdaus did not take kindly, "Mr. Fisher keep moving or I will shoot you!"

With little choice and teary eyes, Mr. Fisher left, followed by Firdaus, who attempted to gun down the roamers making their way towards them. It wasn't long before they were off the platform and into the station. Firdaus closed the door, and the two listened, awaiting Harrison's arrival. After an unexpectedly long silence, the two heard something. Firdaus had managed to kill one roamer, leaving three on the platform. Two gunshots rang out from Harrison and Alice's location, but then the atmosphere grew heavy and cold, like their souls. It didn't take too much to realise that, while Harrison had pulled off the first two shots, he and the girl had been overpowered.


	2. Part II: A Long Way Home

**Part II: A Long Way Home**

Firdaus had difficulty restraining the strong American, but decided it was best to hold out until the man ran out of steam. Shouts of "Get off me!" and "Let me go!" echoed through the halls of the station as the man tried to return to his daughter. After he'd had enough, Firdaus threw the man away from the door, "Just stop!" he shouted, raising his gun. "What difference does it make whether you go and see the two of them dead or not? Now let's go before any more show up!"

Obeying the boy with the gun pointed at him, Thomas Fisher began to walk out of the station. Dragging his feet and watching his tear drops hit the ground, he slowly progressed into the sunlight. "My wife," he began. "She's with my little boy in Atlanta. I need to see them. What will I tell them? How will I get there?"

Frustrated with the loss of his friend and beginning to get annoyed with his new companion, Firdaus replied through gritted teeth, each word he said growing harsher and louder than the one before, "Don't ask me, I'm lost already as it is! Now shut up and let me think!"

It took no further conversation for a fight to break out. Amidst the deserted town, with roamers around every corner, the two began a punch up. Firdaus left hooked Tom, he parried with an uppercut, they both stumbled near a car and Firdaus accidentally fired a shot. As if the risk of attracting nearby roamers wasn't enough to make him frightened, it was the near loss of the only other survivor he could see that really got him. Soon, however, he realised that he had hit the engine of the car. After exchanging a fearful glance with Tom, the two dived down, before blacking out.

Firdaus' eyes fluttered open around the same time as Tom's, a few moments later. Through their blurry vision, they saw fire and a few stray roamers in the distance. Despite this, they could hear strong, confident strides quickly growing near. As they began to, with great trouble, look up, they saw a boy with a girl in his arms. However, the stern expression on this face made it seem less of the happy tale that one might assume. Tom was the first to get up and, riddled with tears of joy and shock, he took his daughter from the boy. This boy, Harrison, crouched down beside Firdaus' head.

"How many times am I going to have to save your life before you wake up and stop shooting random cars?"

"Hey, it's not like that, ok!"

"_Sure..._ Get up!"

Firdaus held his ears as he got up. His words were soft and painful, "Could you perhaps keep it down? My head is ringing..."

Harrison bellowed in response, "No, not really!"

Tom interjected, "Thank you so much!" He looked down at his daughter, still in his arms, "God, baby, I thought you were dead."

All this commotion; the fight, the gunshot and the shouts, had alerted nearby roamers. Slowly but steadily, a total of at least five roamers began to close in from all directions, and no one knew how many more may be around each corner. Stood in a small, irregular quadrilateral perimeter, the four survivors desperately looked around for a solution to the problems that they had created.

As of Harrison's direction, they made a dash for the alley across the once busy street. Due to the fact of one side of the alley being just a railing overlooking the train tracks, it was heavily exposed to sunlight and hence was very bright. Nevertheless, the end was obscured, but Harrison's knowledge of his home town informed him as to what lay ahead.

The three at the back stopped in synchronisation with their leader, Harrison, who slowly crouched down behind a large rubbish dumpster. His left hand sat upon a pipe behind him. As he felt his hand lower upon the bitterly frigid, rounded surface, he realised something. As it seemed, the four had to deal with the two roamers that Harrison had spotted between them and their destination. But given the circumstances, they would have to do so silently. In this sense, the pipe made for the ideal melee weapon.

Shifting slightly, so as to reach the pipe at a better angle, Harrison picked up the lead pipe and a nearby pipe wrench, throwing that over to Tom, and making a hushed gesture towards the two roamers. Without a word to be heard, Harrison mouthed _"Three, Two, One, Go" _and simultaneously counted down with his fingers. When he had reached _"Go"_ the two leapt up and ran straight for their respective victim. The first hit from behind was discombobulating for the receiver, the second took them down, and the final consecutive three finished it off. Out of anger and frustration, however, tom took one last and extremely powerful swing.

As Harrison stared at him, horrified, he shrugged and explained himself, "Just for good measure."

"Yeah," Harrison sighed under his breath. "_Good _measure..."

With their path cleared of the two threatening obstacles, it was safe for the group to advance to the building that Harrison had decided upon. It was nothing more than a lowly post office, but Harrison had good reason to be there. As if he hadn't already, he immediately assumed authority as he entered, instructing Tom to attempt to contact the authorities on the public payphone, and asking Firdaus to set up his temporary command centre on the counter. All the meanwhile, he reached beneath the counter to grab the key to the bottom draw, in which he found a .45 Taurus Model 4510 revolver.

Just like the wrench before, he chucked this weapon to Tom. "Hold on to that," he smiled. "Packs a real punch, we call her _'The Judge'_."

Tom caught it in his free hand, and then put the phone down. "Thanks," he began. "But I'm afraid that there ain't no way we're getting through to anyone; the phone lines are down."

"How unfortunate," Harrison sighed. "Luckily, that's why I have my trusty companion. Firdaus?"

As he turned to Firdaus, he smiled in an almost fiendish manner and awaited a response. "Just setting up now, you should be able to connect your mobile." Harrison then pulled out his HTC One Mini, but Firdaus halted him with a simple hand gesture. "Not that one," he murmured, a tone of disappointment in his voice. "Your service phone."

Groaning like the everyday, impatient teenager he should have been, Harrison withdrew his black Docomo Fujitsu F-02D High-Spec Exmor flip phone from his pocket, another _"gift"_ issued to him by his agency. Once he had opened it and gotten to his home screen, he hooked it up to the portable command centre and began to attempt to connect to the head office. Much to his dismay, there was little to be heard other than static. As screams and shouts and other signs of death began to slowly sift through to his end of the weak connection, Harrison almost fell to his knees. If the world was ending for him, then all hell was breaking out for his colleagues, engulfing them in the fiery inferno of the miserable nightmare that was this epidemic.

With almost all conjured up hope lost, Harrison slumped down against the counter until he was sat on the floor, his head in his arms which rested on his raised knees. This position was about as close to curling up and dying that he had ever come to, but before it could grow worse, Harrison was struck with an idea. He shot up, a more convincing expression of happiness than any of the others could attempt to show wide across his face.

"I've an idea," he began. "Now it won't be easy, but if we can find a boat, we can get to America without the need of a helicopter."

"You're crazy," Tom burst out. "We're nowhere near the sea, and even if we were, who says we'd have a boat with the right supplies? The hell does a Brit like you want with America anyway?"

"If you drive us, we can get to the west coast within a few days, assuming we make regular stops. On the way, we could gather sufficient supplies from towns, so as to have enough food and fuel for the boat journey. Assuming we get to America, you can reunite with your wife and son, and there's plenty of land. Besides, we'll need more guns, and there are only so many in England."

Out of the blue, Tom's seemingly silent daughter spoke up, "I think we can do it," she said, in an assuring fashion to Harrison. She turned to her father, "Come on, dad, we need to go."

"Fine," the older of the two Fishers grunted. "But where will we get a car?"

"Well," Harrison began, resembling a certain old friend of his. "There are plenty outside, but I was thinking that we could take my school coach."


	3. Part III: It Can Only Get Worse

**Part III: It Can Only Get Worse**

Staring out across what little left of the sea that he saw, looking towards the shoreline, the now one month older Harrison grunted. His shirt sleeves were rolled up and he was beginning to feel the breeze. As such, he looked down onto the railing of the motorised yacht, where he saw his black blazer jacket flung over one side. As his eyes trailed off, he noticed once more the blood splatter on the white paint job. Looking back, it all made sense, what happened and why it did, but at the time it had been so confusing. The boy had been bit back at the shopping centre, when nobody looked to check on him. It was only an unfortunate coincidence that he had taken long enough to turn for them to already be out at sea. Despite such a journey, Harrison knew the one truth; it can only get worse.

Having departed on the coach journey, the four had had a good run. They had begun by following through on the coach's intended journey through the village, where they could make their way to the large intersection of arterial roads, leading them to the A20 onto the M25. Tom sat at the front, driving them and trying to get the radio to pick up any broadcasts. Meanwhile, the three kids sat a few seats behind. Firdaus sat on the double seats behind Tom and to his left, with the portable command centre out and attempting to map out their route to the port. Rather than the west coast, the group had decided on going to Plymouth, where they might find more boats and supplies for their seaward journey to America. Harrison and Alice, however, sat a little further back, on adjacent aisle seats. So as to not disturb the other two, they kept their voices to a hush, but every once in a while Tom would smile as he looked up to the rear view mirror and see his daughter laughing gleefully at the kind stranger's comments.

Their first stop was when they were about to change onto the M3, when Harrison declared that they should make their first supply run at Woking. He moved up the coach and asked Firdaus to lay down the map. At this, Firdaus removed the screen of his command centre and lay it out completely flat across the dashboard.

"Alright, this is a three-tiered supply raid operation. Simple. We park here," Harrison began, pointing to the map. "Then we move up to the police department, then the community hospital and, finally, back to where we parked on Victoria Road."

"What of the shopping centre we park by?" Alice asked, curious as to the nature of a supply raid which completely passed a supply-stocked building by.

"We'll hit that on the way back, once we've gathered our other supplies, so that we can get as much as we can onto the coach.

A little short of an hour later, the three kids were back with what they had retrieved from the first two hotspots. Happy to see them, their driver opened the door. They brought on batons and medical supplies, and a most intriguing black bag. Inside it was some ammunition, a Heckler and Koch Gewehr 36, a couple of Glock 26s and a Glock 17, which Harrison pocketed immediately.

"What was that house?" Alice asked, completely out of the blue.

"Oh," Harrison trailed off, recalling the house that he had entered on their way. "Nothing..."

No one, especially not a girl such as Alice, could possibly believe this and pass it off as so, "Yeah right," she said, giggling a little. "You went in hopeful and came out disappointed, what's up?"

Without another word exchanged between any of survivors, Harrison picked up the bloodied, albeit now dry, lead pipe that lay on the seat next to his, and led his two scavenging companions back out, "Now onto the shopping centre."

Not one of the three were foolish enough to not realise that, if there wasn't a group of the possibly violent living in the shopping centre, there would most definitely be those who died trying to hold it off from roamers. As if it were a baseball bat, Harrison held the pipe in a way that he was ready to swing as Alice prepared to open the door. On the count of three, she swung it open, but made sure that it made no sound. Expectant of a roamer, they lay in wait, but not a single soul passed through the door.

Sure enough that that entrance lobby of the shopping centre was clear, the three crouched down and began to move silently along the cover of plant pots, bins and benches. With each shop they passed, they examined its nature, deciding whether or not it was worth pillaging it. Then, Harrison spoke up, "Dead ahead," he said.

Firdaus upholstered his gun, "What?! Where?"

"No," Harrison sighed, burying his face in his palm. "I meant we need to get to the area right in front of us."

"Oh, ok..."

"Let's recon the area," as Harrison said this, he looked around. "Firdaus, you take that left flank, where you can pass through that gap between the plants and wall undetected."

"Got it!"

"Alice, you go into that art store and head up to the second floor where you can get an angle overlooking the whole area, take these binoculars."

"Alright."

"I'll follow down the middle."

The three split up to perform their designated tasks. With their plan in mind, they were ready to swiftly vacate the area. Harrison did not fear roamers in such a large place, but rather any people, who may be dangerous. Everything that happened next happened extremely fast. First there was the sound of someone sneezing, then the three ducked into cover as five men and two women walked out.

"Sort your cold out, Jim," one of the women persisted. "You'll get us all killed!"

"Sorry," whispered the man on the end.

_Damn, _Harrison thought. _Looters. _When one member of the new group stopped and alerted his allies of something, Harrison began to worry. In the midst of his fear and confusion, he took the time to analyse the potential threat. The first two men had a bow and quiver stocked with ammos each, the next two had cricket bats, the two women had machetes and the last man was gone. Panicked, Harrison's eyes darted around the room, hoping to find the disappeared man. As he looked at Firdaus, he received an uneasy shrug and a force smile, which he attempted to return. On the other hand, when he looked towards Alice, she was gone. His heart raced as he looked forward again to see her being dragged by the seventh member of the gang to his friends.

Einstein was right. Time _is_ relative to the person experiencing it, and right now it had slowed right down. With every heartbeat, Harrison felt each second grow further and further from its successor. In the state of near paralysis he breathed in and out, slow and steady, focusing himself. At that moment he launched himself forward, over his cover. Within seconds, he was back on the floor, lying in front of eight bodies. However, when it all happened, it felt much longer.

After diving over his only protection, Harrison had taken out the two with ranged weapons. As his momentum changed from jumping up to falling down, he began shooting at the others, helped by Firdaus, and by the time he had reached the ground, everyone was on it. He slowly arose, running towards the arrangement of bodies. Among the hostiles and in a pool of blood, Alice lay motionless. Before Harrison could even begin to mourn the loss of a fellow survivor, he noticed that the body count only totalled Alice and five looters. At this moment, another gunshot rang out, piercing Harrison's ears with its echoes and grazing his left arm with its bullet. Despite his wound being very marginal, he fell to the ground in shock.

While under suppressive fire, he dashed to a nearby pillar, Firdaus returning covering fire. In an attempt to avenge the lost of a valued friend, he tried to shoot back at the last remaining pair. It seemed clear to him that the seventh member of the gang had a gun, and he only saw one dead woman, so the other living looter must have had a machete on her. Therefore, it would be easier for him to take them both out, especially if he took care of the gunman first. As he peered around the pillar, he tried to aim at the remaining two assailants, but found great difficulty in trying to aim down his iron sights with teary eyes.

Unbeknownst to himself until it was too late, the woman had flanked him and was about to deliver an executing blow to his head when her brains were splattered across the pillar by a bullet with precise accuracy and a strong impact. Having realised that it wasn't Firdaus who had saved him, he turned to look behind and see Tom, with his revolver raised. He quickly joined Harrison in cover and began shooting at the last remaining enemy.

"Thanks," Harrison stammered.

"Well," Tom gestured to his gun. "Judge, jury, executioner."

"Yeah," Harrison chuckled. "Did you learn to shoot or something?"

"You're kidding, right? I grew up in America, and in the country at that!"

With a few more wasted bullets, the last man fell to the ground. When this had happened, Harrison sighed with relief and then ran to Alice's still form. Crouched by her side, he held her hand in his. She was cold, colder than death itself.


	4. Part IV: In Need of an Old Friend

**Part IV: In Need of an Old Friend**

With little time to spare, Antony hurriedly packed clothes and essentials into his bag. His family had been murdered right out in the middle of the private estate in which he lived by a military pawn with an MP5 and an itchy trigger finger. Nevertheless, the eleven year old packed all that he could in the way of canned foods and weaponry. He didn't even begin to forget to pack his survival knife, water canteen or his binoculars. Despite this, he did overlook the fact of bringing a water purifier.

As ready as he might ever be, he stepped out of his house and onto the sun-caressed streets of Woking. After a left turn and a short walk down a tarmac path, Antony was brought out from his estate of homes and onto the path around the circumference of the lake. A quarter of the way anti-clockwise would turn off towards the shopping centre, where he decided upon taking refuge in, a seemingly wise choice.

In peril on his journey, he laid low and out of sight. Whether or not he was armed or ready, he was scared, and knew immediately that he would need help from an old colleague, another member of his old Scouts group. If there was ever a good time to use his emergency mobile phone, this was it. Having selected the right name on his contact list, he rung the only person he thought to turn to for help.

Their conversation was not long, ending by the time Antony had settled in behind the counter of a store full of a range of products, varying from food to clothes to rather artistic and imaginative forms of weaponry. His backpack between his legs, round which he huddled his arms, Antony sat in wait in his little corner. The boy was hopeless, and truly in need of an old friend.

A fair amount of time had passed when Antony had finally finished his countless strands of contemplation. His friend had taught him a lot about survival while they were in Scouts, and he was getting bored and restless. Wary of where he may find protective gear to wear and a weapon such as a cricket bat, he cautiously left the shop he was in. It only took a few looks back for Antony to realise the nature of this epidemic, and what people would become, before and after death. With this in mind, he feared so much as exposing himself to an open area. In reflection of this, he moved quietly through the shadows, pressed up against the wall. If he could just get to the no longer moving escalators and ascend them, then he would be right by the sports shop.

It was far from straightforward to attempt to climb the motionless escalators in a squatting position, but Antony persisted anyway so as to bring himself closer to his ultimate goal; survival. It occurred to him that his help might not know to not seek him out at his house, so he would have to be quick in order to try and set up a sign or signal, perhaps even a flare or strobe light, although it was rather bright outside.

At the summit of his trek, he stopped, remaining just about out of view. As he shuffled forward, he kicked an empty, glass beer bottle. In an effort to silence it, he grabbed it. At this moment, he decided it best to hold onto it. With this in one hand, he pressed the other against the railing of this upper floor of the shopping centre and continued to progress over to his destination; the sports shop.

Upon entering, he spotted countless useful pieces of gear. While he wanted to grab shin pads, a scrum cap and other protective wear, he headed straight for that which he deemed most important; a hockey stick. After procuring his new weapon, he began to collect other equipment, such as the counterfeit armour. Unfortunately, however, his endeavours were interrupted by the sounds of voices from outside.

Panicked and afraid, he ducked behind nearby cover which gave him a good vantage point of the outside happenings. As they came into view, he spotted a group of five men and two women, looting any essentials they saw. It occurred to him that, at some point within the next progression of a few minutes, they would eventually come into the sports shop. Therefore, he concluded that he needed to escape. He was, however, too late, and no level of stealth would allow him to sneak out now. Suddenly, he looked down to see the bottle still in his hand. Having taken a few silent strides to the doorway, he launched it across to the other side of the shopping centre when no one was looking. It came down with a mighty crash, and the glass smashed everywhere. The entire group of looters had been alerted by this and went to check it out.

With the danger now distracted, Antony traced his steps back to the escalator and descended it as quickly and silently as his steps allowed him to. Hockey stick in hand, he dived back into the cover of the general store and awaited the arrival of his help. He slowly backed into a corner, until he hit a mannequin. Much to his dismay, when he turned around he realised it wasn't mannequin, but a roamer. Shocked by the sudden presence of more danger, he took a hard swing at it.

It took Tom a moment to realise that it was his daughter who lay on the ground, but when he did, he rushed to her corpse and held her in his arms. He cried out, "No, baby girl, please don't do this to me. Please!"

Tears in his eyes, choked up throat and with little incentive left to be present, Harrison stood up. They were right by the general store that he had been looking for, and he decided to quickly enter to check if it was clear. One roamer lay on the floor with a smashed in head, and a boy stood in the corner, facing away; most likely in shock. Harrison could recognise the boy from the back of his head, and began to walk over. "Antony," he smiled. "Help's here!" He grew ever closer to the boy as the young one slowly pivoted. Harrison was perhaps a metre away when the boy had completely turned. Harrison's smile dropped down to a heavy frown and he gasped in horror, raising his gun at his old friend-turned-roamer.

His eyes closed and hands shaking he pulled the trigger, planting a bullet in the boy's brain. He knelt down beside the body, the gun used to execute his friend sitting limply on the hand which rested on his knee. "I was just a bit too late, huh?"

Frustrated and disheartened by the loss of two of his friends, Harrison returned to Tom and Firdaus, who stood awkwardly in the corner where he kept an eye out for any other threats. Perhaps it was anger or foolish hope, but Harrison tore Alice from Tom's arms and knelt down beside her body. She was still as cold and pale as could be, but Harrison took nonesuch nonsense for granted. One hand atop the other and both atop her chest, he began his own, very violent rendition of CPR. Tears streaming down his cheeks, he kept pounding and pounding on her chest, pleading her to not be dead.

Soon after, his grievance had grown to such an extent that he just collapsed beside her, leaving her once more for her father. After letting out all that he could, he returned to a squatting position and stared at her body in distaste of the new era. Suddenly, she made a coughing sound, followed by some form of moan. As he was unsure as to what had actually killed her, Harrison did not know if she carried the infection or not, and placed his hand upon his gun. He readied it for firing but gave Tom an approving look, assuring him to check her heart beat. Sure enough, her heart was beating at a rate gradually returning to normal. At this, Tom began to laugh nervously and Harrison dived to Alice's side.

After the entire misconception had been cleared up, Harrison propped Alice up against the pillar and instructed Firdaus and Tom to gather supplies from the general store, claiming that he would treat her where medically required. Alcohol and cotton wool from the first aid kit was just the right match for her forehead, where she had suffered some mild blunt force trauma. Harrison concluded that what had happened must have been in part due to the blow she suffered, but also shock.

"Are you alright?" he asked, caressing her cheek with his right index finger, genuinely concerned for her well-being.

"Yes, I'm fine," she giggled. "Although, my breathing is a little painful. Has someone been dancing on my chest?"

"Ah, yeah, sorry about that..." Harrison noticed Firdaus and Tom returning with some bags of supplies. "Can you walk?"

"I think so," Alice began standing up. She had a bit of difficulty, but once Harrison had helped her stabilise she was fine to walk around. The four then returned to the coach, onboard of which they would continue their journey.


	5. Part V: Back on the Long Road

**Part V: Back on the Long Road**

On the coach, Harrison sat alone where he counted the supplies they had left, deep in frustration and sorrow. As of that which was found in the general store, they were all set in the ways of alcohol, basic medical supplies, batteries, bottled water, confectionery, lights, matches, non-perishable and canned food, pots and pans, propane and toiletries; all of which he ordered alphabetically. He sighed and looked towards Tom, who sat at the front, still driving. "I'm done taking stock," he mumbled, staring out of the coach's large windshield and silently loathing the thought of being back on the long road.

"Good," Tom replied. "How're we doing?"

"After three days," Harrison began reading from his list. "We've used up six bottles of water and four cans of food."

Three days were not necessary for a trip from London to Plymouth, one could do it in a mere three hours if they tried, but the group had been sure to thoroughly check various towns along the way, and took regular breaks for rest, air and refilling the engine; a tedious task. By this point, however, the group was approaching Exeter, which would be another checkpoint in their journey, rich in supplies like Woking.

Continuing his alphabetical ordering, Harrison sorted out the supplies found at the hospital. All in all, he gladly took notice of antibiotics, bandages, disinfectants, an Epipen, IVs, painkillers and syringes. It only occurred to Harrison then that he had no Epipen on him other than the one which they had found, odd considering his allergy to peanuts. Troubled, Alice stared worriedly at him as he loaded his gun in a rather violent manner of shoving each bullet into the magazine one by one. It was almost as if she felt a duty to watch over him, especially after all that which he had done for her and her father. Seemingly, however, he was ready for the run they were about to embark on in Exeter.

The city of Exeter was established on the eastern bank of the River Exe on a ridge of land backed by a steep hill. It is at this point that the Exe, having just been joined by the River Creedy, opens onto a wide flood plain and estuary which results in quite common flooding. Historically, this was the lowest bridging point of the River Exe which was tidal and navigable up to the city until the construction of weirs later in its history. This combined with the easily defensible higher ground of the ridge made the current location of the city a natural choice for settlement and trade. Of course, in this era of Armageddon it was nothing short of a good place to hold up, a fort of sorts for those rising against the risen dead.

Having taken a small northward detour and reconnecting with the A377, the coach and its passengers proceeded to near the town of Exeter from its once well-renowned university. Tall and well-aged, the closest old-fashioned building of the campus stood elegantly a few hundred metres ahead of them. All she felt was Harrison's two handguns fall upon her lap as he shot up. Travelling through the air occupying the space in the aisle of the coach, he lunged forward in order to grab the steering wheel and direct the coach left and off of the road, into a ditch.

Air bags blew up and passengers jerked forward. Everyone had a seatbelt except for Harrison, who continued flying forward, before he was stopped by the windshield. Most of the damages came in the form of shock. All of the three seated survivors stared at Harrison; Firdaus did so quizzically, Alice sorrowfully, and Tom in spite. The physically, yet not so much emotionally, robust American acting as their driver unbuckled his seatbelt and violently stood up, maintaining his gaze. With just his two brawny hands, he lifted Harrison by his shirt collar. Through gritted teeth, he voiced his hatred. "You bastard!" he spat. "I don't care what the hell is wrong with you, you have no right to try and kill us all!"

"Daddy!" Alice exclaimed in a higher pitch than usual, staring down Harrison's silver Taurus PT92's iron sights. Her hands were shaking, just like her soul, but there was no doubt that she could still hit such a muscular target.

At the sight of his daughter in such distress, pointing a gun at him, Tom put Harrison back down onto the dashboard, and replaced himself by the driver's seat, leaning on it with his arms crossed. Slowly and without effort, Alice lowered the gun and ran straight down the columns of passenger seats to the front of the coach. She got down on her knees to the point that her chest was level with Harrison's head, which lay on the dashboard, and she was able to look down over him. As Harrison returned her gaze, he smiled. "You handle that thing pretty well," he chuckled. Helped by Alice, he slowly rose and limped over to where Alice had dropped his other gun. He picked the black Glock 17 up and presented it in front of the tall blonde girl. "Here, take it," he said, looking down into her blue eyes. The two exchanged the pistols that they were holding, and then Harrison returned to the front, where Firdaus and Tom were. "I noticed atop that first building," he began, in a much more serious tone. "Two snipers, friendly or not, they were possible dangers. I just wanted the best for us, and I knew that this ditch would cushion what might have been an unfortunate collision with the wildlife," he gestured half-heartedly to a nearby tree. "Who's the bastard now?"

Tom couldn't help but chuckle a bit as he slumped back down into his seat. "Alright," he croaked. "You win. Now where abouts did you see them snipers?" Tom placed his hand on the Gewehr 36 which was poking its stock out of the black bag next to the gear box. Placing his own right hand on the back of Tom's seat, Harrison leaned closer in so as to get a better view. Following the direction of Harrison's left index finger, Tom looked out across the last couple of hundred metres of road to the two black figures at the top of the university building. "What do we do?" Tom asked, now convinced by the idea of being led by Harrison, despite his youth.

Harrison let out a long and exasperated sigh, not out of frustration but just as a means for regulating his breathing at a potentially stressful moment. Hands on hips, he looked around himself a bit. "If only we had a hunting rifle or some damn binoculars! How the hell did they not see us anyway? Lucky break?" Near snatching it from Tom's grasp, Harrison picked up the Gewehr 36. "What scope's this got? Anything good?"

"Only your standard ACOG scope," Firdaus grunted. "Mind you, it _does_ have a secondary zoom function; perhaps you can use it to get a better look."

Harrison exited the vehicle and crouched down into the underbrush. The stock firmly rested on his shoulder, he stared down the scope of the gun and adjusted the side magnification toggle. He noticed that both watchmen were dressed fully in black and possessed military grade sniper rifles. As his vision drifted downward, he spotted a large sign above the door;

**EXETER CITY SAFE ZONE**


	6. Part VI: Sanctuary for the Restful

**Part VI: Sanctuary for the Restful**

"So that's it?"

"That's it," Harrison leaned back on his chair, staring into the eyes of his supposedly friendly interrogator.

"That's the whole story of how you got here?" The young man in his twenties paused. "In that case," he uttered, thoughtfully. "You're welcome to stay here. We have a camp in the university and a small community. Just hand your gear over until we can trust you."

"I'm afraid we can't do that," Harrison sighed. "We only wish to stay a few days, get our coach out of that ditch and leave."

"You can stay for as little or as long as you like, but we can't trust you with your weapons. Here, you have to _earn _those rights."

Harrison sighed and slowly turned his head away, looking at the gadget to his left. "Is that camera really necessary?"

"We like to keep things organised. No mistakes."

"I'm not a part of your little fairytale, because you see what you have here? It's sanctuary for the restful, and we don't rest."

There were at least a million smug and obnoxious responses that the young interviewer could have given, but he decided to simply turn and leave in silence. He closed the door on his way out and locked it. Harrison flung his head back over the chair in which he slumped and brought his right ankle up and onto his left knee. He rested his hands on the smart shoe that had once shone black, rubbing off some of the dust and dirt. Despite the entire goings on of the last few days, there was little on Harrison's mind. He cherished the moment, which was abruptly broken by a grand thump on the wall.

Upon entering, Harrison hadn't noticed that the wall that was trembling after the shock of the thump was, in fact, a window which had been painted over after the campus had been turned into a safe zone. Harrison furrowed his brow and stared in confusion at the wall. It shook again and he sat forward in shock and awe. One final smash and the interviewer flew through, back-first. Atop him was Firdaus, clearly enraged and gripping the young man by his collar. Upon landing, Firdaus savagely beat in the man's face. He hit him again and again, before he turned to see Harrison backed against the wall.

"Well, come on then," he said, getting off the groaning man.

"Get our stuff," Harrison said, attempting to stabilise his heart rate.

Firdaus moved towards the door, kicking it down and opened the door of the storage closet opposite the interview rooms. Harrison followed him, picking up a shard of broken glass and plunging it into the eye of the interrogator. "Sorry," he said, more to himself than to the corpse of the student he had just murdered. "I really wanted to like you, you know? I guess you just didn't have that arrogant personality of a villain. No one-liners or anything. Shame."

Standing up and leaving, Harrison kicked the dead body and followed Firdaus into the small room of gear. They took a bag each and left. As they walked out, Harrison picked up a TT-33 with an underbarrel flashlight attachment. He stuck it between his back and belt and straightened his blazer jacket. The pair opened up the other two makeshift interview rooms, to get Tom and Alice. However, the two weren't there.

"Do you think they cut a deal?"

"Oh, come on, Harrison. This isn't our work back in the IISSE; not everyone is out to betray you."

The two exited the main building of the university campus into the dark of night. All was still and quiet and the boys knew that this was their chance to escape. They moved slowly but with objective, keeping down and ducking behind cover. Crawling along the ground, they found a foot-wide hole in the fence. They squeezed through and dived into the low forest ground. They were no longer able to ask for help with the coach, so they decided they had to find their own way.

In order to see in the dark of the twilight forest, Harrison turned on the underbarrel flashlight of the Tokarev pistol. He raised the firearm, cautiously leading the way. In the corner of his right eye, he saw two figures stumbling along. He held out an arm, knelt down and hushed Firdaus. "You see that? Roamers."

"What now?"

"We can't make any noise... Let's get them, slowly."

The two boys crept through the dry underbrush towards the two figures. Had they been Roamers, they wouldn't have reacted to the light, however the two humans before Harrison and Firdaus spun round when they noticed it. Harrison shot back in shock and raised his weapon again. Despite its size, the light shone strongly on the wincing faces of Tom and Alice.

"Thank God," Harrison said. "Why're you two limping?"

"It's Alice's leg," Firdaus said.

"What?"

"Have a look for yourself."

Harrison lowered his head to inspect Alice's leg, raised his gun and put a bullet through her head.

"What the f-?!"

"My daughter! You mur-"

Harrison put a second bullet through Tom's head, all the while still staring down at the ground in front of him. Firdaus watched in shock as he stepped over the bodies and towards the main road.

"Harrison, you-"

"So much for being quiet..."

Harrison holstered his weapon, making his way through the darkness with the light of the moon guiding him. He soon arrived at the car park, chucking the gear he carried into the back of a car. "Firdaus," he begun, turning. "You can drive, right?"

"No, but I can try."

A simple nod was all that Firdaus needed, getting in the driver's seat. Harrison sat down in the passenger's seat. They were lucky that the car park security detail had run towards where the gunshots had come from. Upon starting up the car, Firdaus hammered on the accelerator. Harrison rested his throbbing head against the passenger side window and stared out into the darkness of the night. The car's lights were on full beam, illuminating a large area ahead of them.

"Where to?"

"I don't know, Firdaus. I don't know." Harrison sat up and turned to face the driver. "How about we continue down to the ports? Make our way to America. You're Japanese-American, right?"


End file.
